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by HeyBabyRun
Summary: The journey is never easy. Ftm!Quinn.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I thought about this story- or, idea- a lot, and finally managed to get some coherent thoughts down on paper. I'm not even sure if I'll continue this; there aren't too many fics out in the world dealing with transgender issues, but I know this isn't the first Quinn-centric one. Also, ignore the mistakes, I have no Beta.

**Warnings:** Future chapters may delve into SI (self-injury) topics- and, if I continue, Endgame: Faberry. This fic will deal with FTM (Female-to-Male) transitioning. So, read at your own risk, please.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything Glee-related.

Review?

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><p>There's a moment, I've read about, where the person discovers who they truly are. It can happen over the course of years- maybe, even, in a complete second. That moment, however long or short it may be, happens and makes everything more confusing or clearer.<p>

There is no one in the world, absolutely no one, who feels as lost as I did (Or is it, 'felt as lost as I did?') Nobody in the world could look back on their life and realize just how wrong they were more than me.

I have strived for everything I had never wanted. Simply because all I wanted was to be accepted. What better way to be accepted than do everything they want to have in a daughter?

So, I grabbed myself a life I never wanted; a diet, a workout regimen, a new nose, a new personality. I went from that overweight girl who was never seen without a novel in her hand, to that skinny, heartless bitch who wouldn't be caught dead in the same conversation with any type of 'loser'. It worked out well for me. For a while. And, I will admit, it lasted much longer than I had dreamed.

However, I learned quickly that some dreams don't come true. You won't always get the fairytale dream, or even get accepted by your own parents (even though you _did_ try everything in your power just to please them).

So, when the world keeps spinning, and you're left dizzy in its' wake of destruction, you will probably crumple helplessly down to the ground. I know I did.

I was forced to collapse into myself; to become restricted in ways I never knew were possible. I was left alone, shattered, on the bathroom floor as my parents drove away for the weekend. My heart hurt, my head hurt, my body ached. I felt the pressure to fit into their tall order of 'perfect daughter' become unbearable. My mind was spinning, faster than I had ever imagined with the call of 'See you Monday, Quinn,' up the stairs before they left. So I kept sitting. (You can't fall any further if you're already on the ground, right?)

That is where I am now. The cold, hard tiles of a clean bathroom, leaning against the wall with my knees up to my chest and eyes pressed firmly against them to stop the tears from falling further than I can catch them. I could hear the sound of tires against pavement, backing out of the wide driveway and then zooming off to another world of make-believe; a world where they don't have a daughter sitting at home, crying tears for herself.

Here I go again. Even after I realize I will never be their 'perfect daughter', I'm still trying to cling to them. They'll soon be gone completely when I reveal to them what I just discovered myself. Only, what I just discovered about myself will take some time before even _I_ can actually believe it.

The sounds of my uneven breathing, caused by crying tears over something I can't change, fill the small, white bathroom. Calming myself, I let my eyes linger on the drawer connected to the sink cabinet. Inside is my dirty little secret; a secret I will forever keep to myself until the very last minute. I laugh humorlessly when I realize just how big of a pity party I'm having right now. But, I reason that this is a pretty big event for _anyone_ to deal with and am slightly comforted.

Maybe it's the quiet hum of cars that pass by, coming from my open window and through the open bathroom door, or maybe it's just one of those things you can't stop yourself from thinking about, but either way, I find my thoughts drifting again as my breathing becomes calm. I sift through thoughts from my illegitimate child, my years of striving for a body I thought I needed, to the pain of being tossed out of a place I thought I would always be wanted, and back to the thought that roughly caught me this morning as I looked in the mirror.

A child? I had one. The most beautiful girl anyone could ever want. I had wanted her, once; and when they took her from me to give to someone else, it hurt. But, then I thought of her having to grow up with someone who couldn't afford to give her everything she needed, everything she wanted. I simply couldn't give her everything, so I decided I would want her to have that chance to have someone who would give her everything I couldn't. She deserved it.

But, then, I woke up this morning after coming home late. A party is where I was. Alcohol messes with my mind; it makes me emotional, tired, and angry. I had almost made another mistake; simply because I had felt insecure, again. My body was never what I wanted it to be; never what I thought my parents had wanted it to be.

Beautiful? Not a word I would associate with myself. Nor, would I want anyone to associate with me. I hadn't realized this until last night when he wrapped his arms around me and whispered "You're beautiful, Quinn," and almost went all the way with me. I snapped at that moment. I felt this rage, this unrecognizable fury come over me. I had left in a flurry of clothes and found myself walking home in the dark.

When I woke up, I was home and lying comfortably in bed. I stood up, like any other day, and looked at myself in the mirror. That's when everything changed (_This_ was my moment). I looked and stared and it was _completely_ wrong. It was as if that voice I had been pushing deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of my mind for the past six years of my life had finally lit the fuse and skyrocketed up to the forefront of my mind. That voice screamed at me this morning; clear as day. It violently shook every corner of my mind, and left me broken but everything was clearer.

Every thought I had pushed away, every unconscious flinch when my mother introduce her 'perfect daughter' to her judging friends, every single time I would avert my eyes from my reflection as I stepped out of the shower; all these moments (and other ones I'm not ready to let myself think about, just in case), led up to that one thought that is still haunting my mind as I sit here alone. I let these thoughts come to the front of my mind, no longer trying to keep them from coming as I had before; one by one, they fall into place, and now, everything makes sense.

_Everything makes sense._

It's a while later, and I'm now sitting quietly and contently, still thinking about my revelation. They keep coming and coming and then, I find myself not being able to keep them from escaping my mouth. It's as if these thoughts feel cheated for having to stay locked away for so long, and the least I could do is let them out into the world (even if it's to an empty room).

So, I sit. I sit here and talk to the walls. They listen better than my parents ever have, or will. Question after question falls from my dry, chapped lips, but I never get an answer in return; they're silently inviting me to find the answers for myself. So, I take this cue along with a deep breath, and stand up; only this time, I'm not so scared of falling.

A laptop will always do the hard work if one feels stuck. It was built to answer my questions. A fact I make myself believe in for a moment, only because I the first question I have needs to be answered, however inadequately it might be. I believe it so much, that I type in my question and pray that I'm not left hanging out in a state of vulnerability for too long. There's a moment of uncertainty, until I realize I'm staring at the blank screen and begin to type my question that needs an answer. This machine must give me an answer; otherwise, I'm alone again. It's never failed me before, so why would it start now?

All my fears aside, I hover over 'search' with my mouse slightly shaking. (Do I really want to know the answer?) So many questions that I can ask, yet, I ask the one I already know what I want the answer to be. The one answer that I _need_ it to be; because then, I can go from there with reassurance and hope.

One more time, for reassurance, I say, out loud, "This machine was built to answer my questions."

A fact (for me). So, I when I type:

'_Can a girl ever be a boy?'_

And _click_ 'search', I'm not left unanswered and disappointed anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Well, same thing as chapter one. I don't write very well. Sorry. AU, and OOC-ness, and typos because I don't have a Beta.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything you may recognize in this story.

**Warnings**: Pretty much the same as chapter one.

Review, please?

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><p>I wake up in the morning and it's freezing in my room. It turns out last night wasn't the best night to leave my window open; even if it is meant to be the beginning of summer.<p>

Closing the window swiftly, I turn and start to grab a few clothes from my dresser. I hesitate, my fingers lightly touching the soft, cotton of a blue polo. One week ago, I would have grabbed this shirt and slipped it on without a second thought. But, now, I'm standing here and thinking of before yesterday, before staying up last night until the early hours of morning, before I had realized just exactly what I was feeling; now, I stand here and turn my gaze from the shirt and down towards my body. It's almost as if I'm a new person and I'm completely freaking out.

How do I explain this without sounding completely crazy? Maybe I can't.

Have you ever looked down at your body and seen something you didn't like? Maybe you gained a few pounds over the holidays, or perhaps you haven't shaved in a few weeks, or, maybe, you just don't like how your clothes don't match.

Here's the thing: You would be able to lose those few pounds by taking the stairs, or going for a run a few times a week. You can go straight into the bathroom and shave your legs in ten minutes. You can turn around and go to your closet, get a new outfit, and be out the door in five minutes.

When I look down, I see two breasts. Two attributes that would lead the human population to know I am a female. Just like you, I don't like what I see. But, unlike you, I cannot simply lose a couple pounds and be happy with my results, or get rid of them in a few minutes.

They are there- even though I don't want them to be. They are there, and I didn't fully realize just how much I disliked my body until this very moment, standing here in my room with a blue polo that was made to perfectly fit every curve of my chest.

It would be easy to pretend as though it isn't my breasts that are making me angry and sad and emotional. I could pretend that it's my entire body; my whole body is fat and I just want to be rid of it. I could pretend it's my whole body and starve myself until someone notices I have a problem. But, when they discover that problem, they won't actually realize that my _real_ problem runs a whole lot deeper than just a _weight_ problem.

Develop an eating disorder; sure, I could do that. I've been on the Cheerios long enough to make it look normal when I don't eat much. But, I don't think I deserve to have it that easy.

I deserve to go through the pain of being in the wrong body. I deserve everything that will be thrown my way after I fully accept the fact that I'm in the wrong body and I can't keep living life this way.

_Don't I?_

My thoughts are just going in circles now. I don't feel comfortable thinking about the future, but I can't turn my thoughts away from the sites I found when I dove deeper into researching this- my epiphany. I don't think I'd be able to fully teach someone else what I had found last night. It was a lot of information.

I had read something about 'dysphoria' and 'disorders', and I had briefly (and almost gladly) thought I had some sort of mental disorder until I came upon some site that said 'disorder' wasn't the correct term. Pages upon pages upon pages of words and tips and advice and _more_ words; it was almost _too_ much.

Shifting my eyes from my body to the polo again, I remember reading something about 'passing' and 'binding'. _I should really think about writing some of this stuff down._

I tug the shirt from the dresser and throw it over my shoulder. Ignoring the bathroom mirror, I quickly shower and get dressed. It's nearly ten and I realize I had only slept a few hours before the weird cold swept into my room. It's nearly eleven when I finally walk out the front door and get into my car. I turn the radio up to drown out my thoughts as I drive down the deserted suburban street.

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><p>I'm not sure what caused me to turn into the parking lot of the local sport shop, but I do. I'm halfway across the parking lot before I realize just <em>exactly<em> what I'm about to do.

I remember reading about ace bandages, like I said before, and how they could cause problems with lungs and ribs and so much other horrible stuff. But, I also read how they _worked_.

I'm grabbing the largest size they have, which wasn't very big, and racing out the door after paying. I'm nearly half way home by the time I realize I had meant to go to the mall.

I press on towards home, and I fumble with the keys as I approach the locked front door. I drop them once, twice, three times before pushing the door open and slamming it shut behind me. I'm home alone still, and I will be for the next two days.

It's quiet and almost creepy as I step into my room. Throwing the window open and feeling the slight breeze rush in, I dump the package from the bag and it falls with a dull _thump_ on the bed.

I'm absolutely terrified.

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><p>It's not uncomfortable. It isn't slipping. <em>It's okay.<em>

Standing in front of the mirror, I move this way and that; eyeing the ways it makes me look. My breasts are pushed down but are pushing against the bandage that is wrapped snugly around my body three times. I could have wrapped it tighter, I suppose; but, the thoughts of damaging a rib or a hurting a lung loom in the back of my mind. I put a looser shirt on, but it's _not enough_. So, I put another shirt over that, and _it's starting to get hot in here._

I don't have many lose fitting shirts because "My Cheerios will never wear anything that doesn't make them look skank-ish or whore-ish, 'child prostitution' laws be damned." Nor do I have the darker colors that the computer suggested. I don't have the money to buy myself new clothes. Nor, do I want to explain to my mother (or anyone else who would even care to ask) why I suddenly have a darker wardrobe.

Sighing, I realize how much I don't like this.

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><p>It's Monday when they get back- I spent those two days at home, alone; simply because I didn't want to go outside at all during the second weekend of summer vacation.<p>

And, now, here I am, alone in my room until I hear the unmistakable footsteps coming up to my door.

"Quinnie," she knocks on the door before opening it. "Your little friends are here."

I'm lying on my back on my bed, my head dangling off the side and turned to look at my upside down mother in the doorway.

"Friends?"

"Yes," she shifts from foot to foot, "Santana and her," her mouth does this weird sort of move as she looks for the word, "_friend_."

"Brittany." I say and she nods. "What do they want?"

"We wants you to quit ignoring our calls, Fabray." Santana says, strutting into the room with Brittany right behind her. Mother looks as though she wants to say something, bites her tongue, turns completely around and leaving the room.

"I wasn't ignoring your pho-"

"Yeah, you were. I couldn't care less if you disappeared for the summer,"

_Ouch_.

"But, Britts here wants you to come to the mall with us."

Brittany had moved and was standing by the window until she heard her name being said. I watched, still upside-down, as she came and sat next to me on the bed.

"Why are you laying like that, Q?" She asks, poking me in the stomach and effectively getting me to move.

I sit up quickly and fold my arms over my chest.

"What's your deal, Tubbers?" Santana asks, still standing by the door.

"Nothing."

She raises an eyebrow and I feel a blush start to rise on my face. It's obvious, I know, to see that I'm hiding something. But, how exactly do you tell your friends that you've had an epiphany over the weekend and it turns out to be life-changing?

_I doubt there's an easy way._

"C'mon, Quinn. Will you come with us to the mall? I'll buy you anything you want!" Brittany is grinning widely again- the kind of smile that reminds me of the one she used to get me and Santana into going to the zoo last month; the same zoo trip that lead us to almost get arrested for trying to steal a couple ducks.

"I don't know, B. I'm not really feeling well."

"Q- seriously, what is up with you?" I can tell that Santana is getting irritated now by the way she keeps shifting from foot to foot and crossing her arms. Brittany must have sensed it as well because she's up and pulling Santana to sit on the bed before she has even finished her sentence.

"Nothing is wrong with me," I say lamely, "I just don't feel like going out in public."

"Why not?"

"Because, Britt, I just don't feel well."

"Are you sick?"

"No."

"Well, then, you can come with us!"

She tugs on my hand and I reluctantly let my arms fall from my chest as she pulls me up from the bed.

"Let me get dressed, then." I say, hoping they'll go wait in the car.

"I'll help you pick something out!" Brittany says, excitedly moving towards my closet.

"I'll be out in the car." Santana mumbles and is up and out the door before Brittany and I can even reply.

"What color do you want to wear?"

"Something dark." I say, watching as she pushes and pulls the hangers and sorts through the clothes.

"Dark? Why not something light?" She pulls a bright pink shirt from the hanger and tosses it at me. "Like this!"

"Er-" I try to think of something to say to her but she turns and sees my reaction and goes back into the closet looking slightly hurt.

"I'm sorry, Britt." I sigh, tossing the shirt onto the bed. "I just, want something darker today, instead."

"It's okay. Sometimes, San wants to wear dark clothing, but that's only because she feels fat during the time of the month when she gets her per-"

"Okay!" I say loudly, now knowing the reason why Santana might be wearing black for the rest of my life (and fully aware that I could have gone the rest of my life without that tidbit.)

"Sorry. Is it your ti-"

"No!" I nearly shout this time, "I just- it's- I-" I struggle to find the words. "Just- Black, Britt. Black."

Blushing, I turn around to search for a pair of jeans in my dirty clothes pile I had worn around the house during the weekend. _No one would notice anyways, right?_

They're black and slightly bigger than the rest of my clothes; mainly because I had bought them before I found out I was pregnant and just thought I had gained weight and needed bigger pants.

I hear Brittany still rummaging around in my closet and know she could take hours trying to find the right outfit. Cautiously, I make my way to the door and peek inside. She's tossing shirts aside into one big pile in the middle of my rather large closet.

"What about this?" She holds up a dark blue t-shirt. I recognize it immediately, blushing. It was an old shirt from middle school- long forgotten over the years and practices of being a Cheerio. "You don't really have any other darker clothes- but, this shirt's kind of big."

I'm completely red-faced now and remembering that the shirt actually used to be almost too small at one time. Wordlessly, I take the shirt from Britt's hands and just nod. Shrugging, she turns and sees the mess she had made before smiling guiltily.

"I'll put these back while you change."

"Okay, give me like, five minutes."

I walk out of the closet and grab the pair of jeans from the bed before making my way into the bathroom. Flicking the light on, I shut the door behind me and quickly change out of my sweats and into the pants.

I try not to look at the mirror until I'm standing shirtless. I wonder if Brittany or Santana would notice? _Maybe they won't._ They probably won't._ Hopefully._

Grabbing the single roll of bandage from underneath the sink, I undo the hooks and let it unravel. I hold one end in place and begin to firmly, carefully, wrap it around my chest; and unconsciously smiling when I look at the mirror when I'm done. It's not too tight- but I look different, that much is obvious to me. I hesitate slightly when I start to fix the clasps and wonder if maybe I look _too_ different; I shake my head, knowing if they did notice then I could distract them. Or, at least, I could distract Britt.

I open the door underneath the sink and hesitate- there's an unopened package of these 'wife beater' things that I had accidently taken from Finn's house when I had packed my things. I had thought they were too big for me to wear, until I realized the reason Finn hadn't used them was _because _they were too small.

A site had said, 'Layers will help with hiding your chest.' That's what I wanted, right? But, could I _really_ get away with it while in the company of my 'best friends'? Could I wear these baggy clothes and avoid the questions properly? _But, who says I have to answer them?_

I pull the package from under the sink quickly, knowing I would chicken out if I spent more time thinking about it, and then realize I've been in the bathroom for far too long. Carefully pulling on the black beater and then the shirt, I grab my dirty clothes and glance at my reflection.

I don't know if I can describe this feeling. It's almost like that feeling you might get after you stare at a complex math problem for a long time, and then you write down a few answers (knowing they're not right), then erasing everything you put down, rereading the question, realizing you hadn't read the question right and immediately knowing the answer to a question that simply wanted to know the quadratic formula.

Even _that_ doesn't describe the feeling very well.

I'm not very good at this whole 'expressing your feelings' crap.

(Sorry about that- But, I'm trying, and that _has_ to be worth something, right?)

Perhaps, it's almost as if reading the ending to a mystery and finding out you were right all along. Or, realizing something and suddenly everything makes sense (sort of how you might feel when you read the first Harry Potter book after reading the seventh and now know some of the reason why Snape doesn't look at Harry again after making eye contact during the first feast).

Perhaps, not.

Maybe there isn't any sort of way to describe this feeling I get when I look at myself now and see my chest flat. It could be pride, or hope, or satisfaction.

I really don't have time to be thinking about this. They're waiting for me out there, and I have to face the music, now or never.

Brittany looks at me, taking in my clothes, before opening her mouth to say something until the shrill sound of her ringtone cuts her off.

"Yeah? Okay. We're on our way. Don't leave, Santana!" She quickly ends the call, grabs my hand, and we're out the front door almost before I can say "Going to mall, be back later!" to my mother as she pours herself a glass of deep, red wine in the kitchen.

I hear a faint "Have fun, dear," as the door shuts behind us. Brittany is pulling me towards the black Jetta that's slowly backing out of the driveway.

"Santana Marie Lopez, you stop that car now!"

There's a sort of bite in her voice that doesn't go unnoticed by Santana; we watch as her eyes widen and she puts the car in park. Britt jumps in the front seat and I slide into the back.

"I wasn't really going to leave." I hear Santana tell Britt quietly from the front.

"I know, San," Britt takes Santana's hand resting on the console and intertwines their fingers. "But, I don't like it when you do that, you know that."

I smirk from the back seat at Santana's guilty face; I'm tempted to say something along the lines of 'whipped' or just a plain 'aww', but get distracted when I notice the unmistakable blue Impala that just turned down out street.

"S, we should probably go now."

Noticing the underlying panic in my voice that comes from the brief remembering of what had happened when my father found out I had spent twenty dollars during my last trip to the mall- Santana unhooks her fingers from Britt's and backs out the rest of the driveway quickly. I keep my eyes averted as my father passes us and let my head rest on the coolness of the window.

"What took you guys so long?"

"We couldn't find an outfit."

"Is that why you're wearing that old ass shirt that Sue would probably make you burn if she ever caught you in it?"

I ignore the comment and can feel my nerves starting to catch up to me. If I ignore them then they'll drop it, right?

Of course not;it's_ Santana and Brittany._

"It isn't that bad, San."

"Yeah, if she's going for the homeless look."

"It brings out her eyes."

"Yeah, but it does nothing for anyone else's."

We are most definitely getting into a discussion I don't want to have right now.

"I mean, seriously, Q. Are you trying to look like a man? Or, are did you lose your boobs after lizard baby?"

_Fuck._

"Shut up, Santana." I scowl at her eyes in the rearview that are looking back at me. I'm a complete wreck on the inside; but, slightly happy at the same time. Did she mean that I actually could pass as a guy? Or, was she just being Santana? I _want to hate her so much_.

"Did I hit a soft spot?" She smirks, averting her eyes back to the road for a second. "Having lizard baby must've took all your woman in you out; how else would you go from boob-city to flat-chested man-woman overnight?"

_Somebody stop her, please. I'm known to just blurt out the truth when I'm in uncomfortable situations. Why the fuck did I have to realize the truth less than a week ago? Don't say anything, Quinn. Just, ignore her, or talk about something else. Don't blurt this out- anything except that._

My brain is working a million miles a minute- which means my conscience finds something for my mouth to practically yell out as we come to a stop at a red light.

"I like Rachel!"

_What the fuck?_

It's silent, save the radio, until both Britt and Santana realize what I yelled from the back and begin to talk at the same time.

"What the fuck?"

"Rachel Berry?"

"Yeah." I say, not really sure as to why my face is turning completely red.

"Man-hands?"

"Since when?"

"The light turned green."

"What the fuck?"

It's complete confusion for a few more seconds until Santana hears the angry honks from behind her and peels out towards the direction of the mall.

_Well, that changed the subject._


End file.
